Gaara's Story
by Snowhearte
Summary: This is my version of how Gaara killed his uncle Yoshomaru. It's pretty sad. Enjoy!
1. Bakemono!

Sabaku no Gaara swung back and forth slowly on the porch swing, a ragged teddy bear clutched in one hand. The bright sun shone high in the azure sky and contained all the heat of true summer. Birds fluttered across it, singing for absolutely no reason. Other children ran and played soccer with a worn red leather ball. In short, the day was beautiful.

Gaara's thoughts were, sadly, not so pretty.

He was remembering how, the night before, he had gone outside to dig holes in the garden after supper. His brother Kankorou—older by two years—and sister Temari—older by a year—were there already. They pointed and laughed at him, then ran away when he tried to approach them. Gaara still felt the hot, burning anger as he recalled the memory.

The boy was short for his six years. He had close-cropped red hair, and big, faint blue eyes. But there was something wrong with those eyes.

A thick blackness surrounded them, a blackness that looked like paint, though it was anything but. This was because of the creature inside him, the creature that the adults of the village Hidden-in-the-Sand called the Shukkaku when they thought he wasn't listening, and the children called the Two-Tailed Racoon when they knew he was. Gaara called it the beast. The beast was what made everyone afraid of him, the beast and the sand.

Gaara was an experiment. Whilst Gaara was in his mother's womb, the Shukkaku was placed inside him. The first person Gaara had ever killed was his mother, as a sacrifice, when he was born. Which was another reason for people to fear him. It helped a little that his father was the Lord Kazekage—Gaara wasn't quite so picked on or ignored—but the governor's protection of his youngest son only went so far. And right now, the Kazekage was off visiting the Hokage of village Hidden-in-the-Leaf. _I don't want to be alone anymore…_

_But someday_ I'll _be the Kazekage,_ Gaara reminded himself with a sigh. _Then people won't ignore me and be afraid of me._

He slid off the swing and hopped off the porch onto the ground. He dropped his teddy bear. With a grunt, he bent to pick it up.

He was startled when his small hands met leather instead of fuzz.

Gaara blinked and picked up the worn red ball. Looking around, he saw a group of children—three boys and two girls—milling fearfully about ten feet away. His heart twisted at the sight of that fear—whether in pleasure or despair, he did not know—but he smiled at them, held up the ball, and said shyly, "Hi. Here's your ball. D'you think I could join you?"

The fear broke. "Run away!" screamed one of the boys, turning and bolting in terror. The other four followed his example, whirling away and careening at full speed up the lawn.

_Don't go…_ The sand came. The sand that killed and invoked fear. The sand that protected any wounds from being inflicted on his body, stopped him from feeling any type of physical pain.

The sand launched itself from a point somewhere behind him, over his shoulder and towards the children. They screamed in collective horror and somehow found the strength to run faster.

One tripped, a girl named Aku. Instantly the sand turned on itself and grabbed her leg and both arms, pinning her to the ground. Gaara raised his hand and gestured. Aku screamed and thrashed, pressing her head to the ground in a futile attempt to shield herself. Gaara flexed his hand, obedient to the fury inside him, and the sand readied itself, arcing above the girl for a killing blow.

"YAAAAH!"

The shout startled him into slowing the sand slightly, as a man flung himself down out of nowhere in front of Aku. The sand deflected off his arms, crossed in front of his face. He raised distressed lavender eyes to Gaara's, and shook some pale blonde hair out of his face. "Gaara-sama, you must calm down!" he cried. _Y-Yoshomaru-san?_ Gaara slowly lowered his arm. The sand fell back to the ground with an _fsk_ sound. Aku clambered to her feet and ran off, blood running down her arms and leg. She was limping horribly.

The man wore the vest and general garb of a Jounin-rank ninja. He wore his headband across his forehead. He knelt in front of Gaara and put a fatherly hand on his shoulder, smiling kindly at the boy. "U-u-uncle Y-Y-Yoshomaru-s-san," Gaara stammered. "I-I-I—"

His face crumpled, and he fell forwards into Yoshomaru's arms, his sobs as uncontrollable as the sand had been. The Jounin held him tightly as the child cried.

Later that night. The moon shone high in the dark sky. Diamond-like stars winked around it. Gaara trotted along the road, carrying a small package and humming a small tune. He was heading for Aku's house.

He slipped through the garden gate, stopped to watch a water snake glide away through the pond, then skipped up to her porch. He rapped sharply on the door and waited.

Aku herself opened the door, a pleasant smile on her face. When she saw who it was, the pleasantness vanished, to be replaced by fearful wariness. Feeling suddenly very shy, Gaara smiled at her. "Hi," he said hesitantly. "I'm sorry about earlier. Bet it hurt, didn't it?" He raised his package and offered it to her. "You can use this ointment if you want."

Aku stared at him for a nanosecond, then pulled her head back through the door, slamming it shut. "Go home!" she yelled through the wood. And then, a second later, she added, "Bakemono!"

Bakemono?

Monster?

Gaara lowered the package of ointment, face a stricken mask of pain. _Bakemono?_ Gently, he put the ointment on the doorstep, turned and ran off. This time he ignored the water snake.


	2. What's Pain?

He wandered the streets for an hour, Aku's words turning repeatedly in his mind: _"Go home! Bakemono!"_ He didn't dare go home, not in this mood. He doubted that he would be able to face Temari and Kankorou without killing them—literally.

_"Go home! Bakemono!"_

_I-I_ am _a_ _bakemono,_ Gaara though sadly. _I-I killed my own mother!_

"_Bakemono!"_

_I should die. I deserve to die. I should have died with mother._ These thoughts were no strangers to his mind.

A drunken man staggered by, almost clubbing Gaara on the head with his nearly empty whisky bottle. "H-hey, watch it, kid," the man slurred. He peered down at the child, then gave a strangled gasp of fear as he recognized him. The man turned and staggered home.

_I_ am _a bakemono._

Gaara trudged home.

He let himself silently into the house, shutting the door quietly. His uncle was a very light sleeper.

"Yoshomaru-san?" he called out softly, hoping Yoshomaru _was_ still awake. "In here, Gaara-sama." Yoshomaru's voice came from the living room, and it didn't sound sleepy. Gaara relaxed.

He slipped into the large, comfortable room. Yoshomaru was sprawled on one of the old armchairs. Both his bloody arms were bandaged. He was polishing one of his kunai knives. He smiled as his beloved nephew entered the room, but the smile faltered and failed as he saw Gaara's expression.

"Gaara-kun, what is it?" he asked, dropping the -sama and putting the less-formal but more-friendly -kun onto the end of Gaara's name. Yoshomaru straightened up and put the kunai, polish and cloth down on the table. He patted the chair on his left. "Sit here."

Gaara obeyed, feeling dangerously close to tears. His big light blue eyes met his uncle's lavender ones, begging for forgiveness. "Y-Yoshomaru-san," he said hesitantly. "Am I a—bakemono?"

"Where the _hell_ did you get _that_ idea?" Yoshomaru exclaimed, staring at his nephew. "Were the children whispering about you? Where were you this evening anyway? You missed dinner. I was worried." "I wandered around a bit," Gaara explained. "I wasn't hungry. I-I went to Aku-chan's." Tears now started to drip down his face. "I was bringing her some ointment for her wounds. I just thought—it was my entire fault and she was bleeding so much—I thought it would be nice…" "It was, Gaara-kun," Yoshomaru said with a smile. "Go on." "Sh-she shut the door in my face and told me to go home. She called me bakemono. I left the ointment there, I hope you don't mind. B-but _everyone_ thinks I'm a bakemono, Uncle Yoshomaru-san!"

"No, I don't mind," Yoshomaru said. "And _I_ don't think you're a bakemono. Temari-chan and Kankorou-kun don't. Your father the Kazekage-dono doesn't." "I don't see Father-dono enough to know," Gaara reminded him. "And Temari-chan and Kankorou-kun are too busy with their training to notice me."

Yoshomaru gave him a one-armed hug. "It'll be OK, Gaara-sama," he said, reverting to the more formal -sama. "Anything else?" Gaara thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Y-yes," he said. "Yoshomaru-san, what's pain?"

Yoshomaru was stumped for a moment. He blinked. "Erm, let's go out on the porch," he said. Gaara nodded, sliding off the armchair and out the door. He didn't notice that Yoshomaru took his kunai with him.

They sat on the porch in the cool night air, while Yoshomaru pondered his nephew's question. "Pain," he said thoughtfully. "It's not always a good thing. There are many types of pain. Pain of the heart and pain of the flesh are the two most common. Pain of the heart you've had more than your fair share of. Pain of the flesh… you'll never have to worry about that, Gaara-sama. The Shukkaku will take care of that. But I'll show you."

He picked up the kunai and cut his finger on it. Blood welled up in the wound. "That's what usually accompanies physical pain. Blood." He winced slightly and put his bleeding finger in his mouth.

Gaara took hold of his uncle's hand and put Yoshomaru's finger in his own mouth, looking up at his uncle with wide trusting eyes. Yoshomaru smiled.

Gaara sat on his pallet, a kunai filched from Kankorou in one hand and his bare arm laid across his lap. He raised the knife high, the blade glinting in the moonlight coming through his window, and brought it down hard on his pale, slender arm.

The blade thudded into a rock-hard cast of sand that encased his arm. The cast vanished as he withdrew the knife.

Gaara stabbed again and again, becoming more and more frantic in his attempts to wound himself. The sand protected him at each stab attempt, until he finally flung the kunai into a corner. It stuck in the wall, quivering slightly.

Gaara flung himself down onto his pallet, burying his face in his pillow and sobbing with all his might.


	3. Love or The Ultimate Betrayal

_Another day, finally over. Another night, to do what I want. Another day, to anticipate tomorrow,_ Gaara thought, sitting alone on the balcony atop the roof of the Council Hall. He swung his legs slightly.

_I don't want to be alone anymore._

He sighed, and stared up at the cold moon rising high above. The stars were just coming out. He covered his face with his small hands. _Why me? Why, Father?_

Gaara suddenly jumped as he felt the sand appear and shift to cover his back. _Protecting me? But why?_ He turned, the wall of sand moving with him, and saw the assassin.

He was masked. Gaara couldn't see his face. About half a dozen kunai floated in midair before him, supported by his chakra.

_Why, Father?_

Gaara clambered off the balcony and stood, small and alone, facing the silent assassin. "Who are you?" he demanded, crossing his arms even though his heart was pounding and his mouth was dry. There was no answer from the ninja. "What do you want?" _Even if I know full well what you want…_

As a response, the nin gestured, using his chakra as a sort of catapult to fling the kunai at Gaara. But of course, the kunai were blocked by the sand. The child scowled. He was angry now. "All right," he snapped. "If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get!"

Gathering the sand, he sent it at the ninja and flashed a few hand-seals. He scooped up his chakra. "DESERT COFFIN!"

The sand swooped up around the thrashing ninja, wrapping tightly around him and lifting him high into the air. It kept swathing him until only his face could be seen.

Gaara pulled together his remaining chakra, flashing more hand-seals. "D-DESERT FUNERAL!" he screamed, voice breaking. He held out his hand, the fingers crooked into claws, and squeezed it.

The sand expanded, constricting the assassin like a snake squeezes its prey. It crushed all his ribs and half his bones with sickening cracks. Blood spurted everywhere, splashing Gaara. The ninja screamed—and it sounded frighteningly familiar.

"Stop!" Gaara ordered the sand. "I want to see his face as he dies." The sand loosened its vice-like grip, and the ninja fell soundlessly and limply to the ground. He lay there, breath shallow. He coughed, and Gaara heard blood gurgling in his lungs.

The boy paced over to his would-be killer, and put out a trembling hand to yank away the cloth covering the nin's face. He let it fall to the ground in a sudden wave of shock.

Yoshomaru.

He stared at his uncle in paralyzing astonishment. Yoshomaru took a painful breath, and swallowed, then coughed harder. Blood dripped out of one corner of his eye. "Y-your father sent me," the man whispered. He spat and it was all blood, no saliva. "Why?" Gaara cried. "Why did you do this, Uncle Yoshomaru-san?" "It was easy," Yoshomaru snarled weakly. "I never loved you. I always blamed YOU, Gaara, for killing your mother. My sister!" _Y-Yoshomaru…_ "Your father sent me and I went gladly, even joyously. My only regret is not having been able to watch you die."

Yoshomaru unzipped his vest. Gaara, paralyzed by shock and grief, couldn't move fast enough to stop him. There was a ticking noise, and suddenly everything was blinding light, thundering noise and searing heat, and small things flying past him. "YOSHOMARUUUU!" Gaara screamed, huddling on the ground. He was blind, deaf and filled with such grief that if he could have ensured his death he would have flung himself from the balcony that instant.

When he could see again, he was encased in a slowly crumbling, protective globe of rock-hard sand. Yoshomaru's body was nowhere in sight, having exploded with the bombs he'd had underneath his vest.

Gaara sobbed hopelessly, hands pressed to his face. His hands were soaked with his tears, yet they still came. He dug his fingers into his chest where his heart was, and raised his other hand, which shook like a leaf in a gale, before his eyes. It was splashed with Yoshomaru's blood. _Y-Yoshomaru!_

He had always thought that Sabaku no Yoshomaru was the only creature in the world that had ever loved him for what he was. To now find that was not true nearly broke his spirit. To find that he was not loved, to learn he never would be, shattered his heart like glass.

_Yoshomaru…_

Gaara wasn't thinking straight anymore. _"I never loved you. I always blamed you for killing your mother."_

_"I never loved you."_

Gaara gathered the sand around him, smoothing it into a large sheet. _How could—Father—Oh, Yoshomaru!_

He wrote a single kanji in the sheet of sand: love. He touched his forehead gently, just above his left eye, and told the sand what to do. It responded by whipping up and swirling around his head. For a moment, he couldn't see a thing, not even a speck of light. Then it all rushed in again.

The sand, saturated with Yoshomaru's blood, sliced across his forehead where he'd touched it. There was no physical pain. The Shukkaku saw to that.

Gaara raised his head slowly, face now expressionless and cold, though tears flowed freely down his face. "I will love no one," he whispered. "On Yoshomaru's body and broken promises and my own blood I shed, I vow I will love no one but myself, from now on and forever!"

Blood from the new tattoo love' on his forehead merged with the tears from his eyes. They fell together to mix with the sand on the ground.


End file.
